Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon
by EtincelleD'OR
Summary: Not even if it's to tell him you're pregnant. Anastasia struggles to understand - how are you supposed to deal with something that is absolutely impossible? When your dearest wish is warped into something that could kill more people than it's worth?


**_Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon_**

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**Me: Hello!!! Here's another sidestory to Resurrected. If you're wondering why Anastasia is still alive, and why the background is odd, read that too lol. Thank you to my lovely beta Tsuki-Himitsu!!! Enjoy and R&R!**

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Anastasia gave a deep, troubled sigh. "Are you absolutely sure?" she asked, her voice dull and weak. It was three o' clock in the morning. The lessons had just ended for the night and outside the doors, the thundering footsteps of fledglings returning to their dormitories echoing through the laboratory. Anastasia had always thought that this part of the House, the most modern, lacked the life and soul that the older buildings possessed. It had been like walking straight into a testing laboratory in a hospital, the smell of meths spirits was faint, but almost overpowering to her.

A vampyre with dark hair pulled into a bun, nodded at Anastasia in a business-like manner. Her labcoat was crisp white and free of staining, unlike Anastasia's own, which was always covered with colourful splodges of explosions that shouldn't have happened. Then again, Dr. Rachel Watson taught Vampyre Biology as opposed to Spells and Rituals. She was a picture of perfection; tall, slim, pretty, impeccably smart, her skin so pale it was almost translucent, indeed it was so white Anastasia found it hard to distinguish where her labcoat ended and her neck began. Her Mark, like all vampyres, was a Sapphire blue, it traced pretty swirls of leaves around her eyes and cheekbones, standing out against her otherwise black and white form. The emotion such a beautiful face would normally display was not portrayed through her facial expressions, it was her mark that seemed to communicate the astonishment her frozen features could not. Her eyes were blue and frosty, like nothing could ever faze her but her mark still radiated bewilderment. In comparison to the calm and collected doctor, Anastasia felt like a wreck, a shivering, non-believing wreck.

The other professor was a Yale graduate, and had worked on research projects at the University of Cambridge. She was, to say the least, very intelligent and never wrong in her work. Anastasia had no such academic merit; only her affinity and somebody else's word.

Anastasia did not usually hold herself in such low esteem, especially not in comparison to others. She immediately felt selfish for her almost cruel analysis of the Doctor– her life was truly wonderful, it was. She wouldn't swap places with this other immaculate vampyre for either world. Remembering this feeling was easy, but sometimes, when things weren't going too well, it was just as easy to lapse into wishing that you could incorporate little parts of other people's lives into your own.

Part of the part of being a vampyre was to be more than human, to be braver, more confident, more eloquent, more elegant, the kind of person that every human under the Sun would give an arm and a leg to be. It was only this perfect image that the entire vampyre society floated on, keeping up appearances and appearing to be more than the raw emotions that made them just as human and the people that walked the day. Without this appearance of sophistication and general superiority, humans would ruin them with slander.

Taking another look at her reflection in the opposite window, Anastasia was quite sure that she had let her entire species down.

She had thought that it was easier to come to her friend first. Lenobia had suggested that she go to the Infirmary, but of course that was all before that courier had made that suggestion that...

The nausea had not ceased. She was being sick, mostly after work and then carrying on into the daytime when she should have been sleeping. Things like plants, and some foods that she liked, now smelled so abhorrent to her that she didn't think she could force them down her throat even if she wore a peg on her nose. On the other hand, she had strange cravings for foods she hardly ever ate. She constantly needed to go to the loo. And her moods... She was up and down like a yo-yo, one minute wanting to tear someone's throat out, the next collapsing to the floor and crying. And then there were the times when she was feeling so horny that she had gone to find her husband in the middle of the working night, straddling him as he worked in his office when he didn't have a class. He never complained, least of all at that, but not even when she was mean and snapped at him. This just wasn't normal.

And she knew perfectly well what it looked like.

Watson – barely ever referred to by her first name, simply for the purpose of keeping the Sherlock Holmes joke alive – leant against a lab bench and folded her arms.

"Out of all the research and tests I have done, I cannot find one that supports a difference between human and vampyre reproductive anatomy." She said, "The reason vampyres cannot conceive is because oocytes do not develop correctly in the ovaries, neither do the sperm in the testes. One of the hormones responsible for the initiation of the Change in human teenagers is the same hormone that inhibits the proper development of the oocytes and sperm, halting their growth prematurely. This is why we do not cycle. However, to say, for the sake of argument, that a vampyre could, and had conceived, the chemical released by the developing embryo to help maintain high levels of progesterone to maintain the endometrium, Human Chorionic Gonadotrophin, would be exactly the same. And that is the protein picked up by the pregnancy test. I cannot find reason to believe that that test would be wrong, especially if you have done it several times." She looked amazed, "But how... I don't know. This has never happened before Nastiya..."

"How?" Anastasia murmured, "It's not possible! I'm not sure I understand." She put her hand over her stomach for a moment, "I'm having one of those weird cravings..." she said, "Pancakes with cream and cranberry...."

Watson smiled. "Nyx must have blessed you."

Something about those words sliced through the air to Anastasia's ears. Nyx... two weeks ago...

Oh no.

Anastasia felt her vision go blurry, her ears ringing and a nasty hot tingling sensation over her shoulder blades... She heard Dr Watson ask her whether or not she was alright, before she fell headfirst into a pit of fuzzy thoughts, Rachel Watson's voice echoing around and around again and again...

"_Nastiya...?"_

"_Nastiya..."_

"Nastiya can you hear me?"

Anastasia blinked twice, and took deep breaths. The air felt unnaturally cold in her throat and lungs, the tingling still gently persisting, prodding at her shoulder blades, and her head was aching.

"It alright, you fainted." She said, "Just lie still for a minute or two." Anastasia realised that Watson had put her feet up on the footrest of a bench stool, and immediately tried to move. "Just wait until you feel completely cool again." The doctor ordered, "I'll get someone to fetch your husband."

Anastasia checked her mind for a moment. "He's already on his way."

She knew. They shared a bond so strong that they could actually communicate telepathically if they wanted to. One could always know where the other was, what they were doing and the thread of their emotions.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

She nodded several times. "Please."

The doctor got up and went into her biology prep room, and Anastasia could hear a tap being turned on, water running, splashing into a glass.

"Here you go. Are you okay to sit up?"

Anastasia nodded, pulling her legs off the stool and heaving herself up, her arm shaking slightly as she took the glass. "Thank you."

Watson rubbed her on the back. "That's very normal. I'm surprised you haven't fainted already."

The door to the lab opened, revealing a worried looking Dragon, still in full black fencing garb minus the mask. "Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling next to Anastasia and taking a hand in his.

She wiped her hair from her face. "I think so."

He looked to Watson for reassurance. She nodded, and Dragon lifted his wife into his arms. "She needs to go and rest, she's been under a lot of stress."

"Thank you Watson." He said. Standing up, he lifted her up, and began to carry her back to the professor's building.

"I can walk you know." She said.

"What if I want to carry you?" he retaliated.

"Fine. Just don't hurt yourself."

He chuckled. "Nashtenka you're tiny. I couldn't hurt myself carrying you. What are you, all of eight stone wringing wet?"

"Well you're pretty tiny yourself, I could probably carry you if I wanted to."

"Rub it in, why don't you?"

She smiled and leant her head on his shoulder. When they got to their door, Anastasia fumbled in her pocket for her key and unlocked the door, leaning in to make sure she didn't bag her head on the door frame.

Kicking the door shut with his foot, Dragon placed her down gently on the sofa. Once his back was turned, her face deteriorated into one that wanted to shed tears. How was she going to tell him? How could she even be sure that it was without a doubt true? What if it was just something presenting with similar symptoms? She knew it sounded stupid, but vampyres weren't humans, and the same biological rules did not apply. She reached for the TV remote and started flicking through channels.

She was afraid. This... This could not be coincidence. Not with what Nyx said merely two weeks ago. About Neferet being reborn... In a horrible way it made strange sense. Anastasia let a stray tear roll down her cheek. What did that make her? This evil, Neferet's evil, had almost been the cause of her death those two weeks ago, and now her body was to be the means by which she was reborn to walk the Earth again?

Anastasia was the last person to contest Nyx's will, but her heart was stronger than her mind. How was this fair? Not just on her, but on everybody else who Neferet could hurt?

Her feelings collided like opposing armies on a battle field. Swords flew, shields cracked in two and arrows flew into the dismal grey sky. She let another tear through. Her dearest wish had been warped into something that could potentially kill more people than it was worth. Anastasia would give anything, _anything, _to be a human and have children with her mate. She would be completely normal, no bloodlust, no Marks, no powers, utterly normal. She wanted to gossip with other mothers at the school gates and pack lunchboxes and help with Maths homework. And she had, heart-breakingly, managed to accept that it would never happen.

What now?

She wanted to be sick again, like somehow being sick would purify her, detox her of that darkness that was undoubtedly growing in her womb. Her body shook uncontrollably with fear.

Why?

"Nashtenka?" Dragon called from in the kitchen, "Come and eat."

Sniffing and wiping her eyes on her sleeve, forcing composure, she got up, holding onto the sofa arm for a moment, just to check that she wasn't going to black out again. Her legs trembled, but she could walk. In any environment other than her own home it would have been embarrassing. She was supposed to be strong, her affinity, her ability to use raw magic and mould it to any form using spells had caused others to dub her a 'witch', but it was an optimistic presumption. This was actually making her realise how strong she really was.

And the truth was that she simply wasn't.

Finding her balance, she dragged her feet against the carpet, glad when she reached the tiles of the kitchen floor that she could slide her feet along.

If she had had the strength, she would have gasped.

On the table, was a pile of fresh hot pancakes, a bowl of whipped cream, and bowls of every single filling she could imagine. Chocolate lemon sugar syrup strawberry raspberry cranberry (her personal favourite). Everything.

"Are you getting in touch with your feminine side? Wh..." she began, "What is this?"

Dragon flipped a pancake over in the frying pan and looked over his shoulder. "You had a craving for pancakes with cream and cranberry." He said simply.

An ecstatic feeling prodded at Anastasia, before she finally gave in, crossing the kitchen and putting her arms around him from behind, holding onto his shoulders.

Dragon let his chin rest on his shoulder as he looked around at her. "Are you alright?"

"Why would you do this for me?" she whispered, "When I've been so horrible to you?"

"You haven't been horrible to me." He said reassuringly.

"I have. I've been a cow."

"You haven't." He said, tipping the pancake onto another pile and turning off the oven ring. He put his arm around her waist and led her to the table, sitting her down before taking a seat himself. "Everyone feels like that sometimes." He said, smiling, "Come on, eat something. Justify my male pride in making these."

She began laughing and pulled a pancake onto her plate, smothering it with cream and cranberry. "I've just been craving one of these all day." This was a traditional breakfast dish in Russia, delicious, sweet, the taste of it brought back happy memories that she had long forgotten.

"I know. It was all you could think about. I was just finishing up with my Fifth Formers and I couldn't get this image of pancakes out of my head." His kind smile faded, leaving only a trace of itself on his lips, his eyes were rife with concern. "I'm really worried about you..." he said quietly. "You're not well and I can't bear to see you like this."

It was all too true. Dragon was unable to relax if his wife even gave so much as a sneeze. He had thought she was dead. Clever magic had managed to fool him, she had been dead for a time as well. In that time, he had begun to die as well. The pain of losing his wife, his soulmate, his own soul had been so excruciating it was unbearable. And even then, she hadn't really been dead. If her soul had crossed into the Otherworld, he would now be dead too. And if through no means of his own, then by slow and painful bereavement with a dash of starvation. He couldn't lose her again. He _wouldn't _lose her again. Having found each other again they had become closer than ever. Anything that so much as made her feel remotely uncomfortable he would remove, but this sickness just wasn't subsiding. It was true that vampyres could not catch human diseases, but there were other pathogens, albeit but a few, out there that could infect vampyres.

As he watched her face change a million times over the period of a minute, her abnormal nervousness, and through their Imprint he felt like he was in a rowing boat on a violent sea of emotions. But there was a fog, a deep thick white cloudiness, stopping him from seeing the waves. He could only feel them. She was blocking him. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Do you wanna tell me something?"

Her fork, busy impaling more pancake, froze. She looked down at her plate, suddenly no longer hungry. She took deep breaths and leant her elbow on the table, cupping her forehead with her hand.

"I'm sorry..." he said, "I know the connection means we get little privacy from each other. It's just... If there something hurting you... I don't want you to have to go through it alone."

There was a pause, before she forced words through her mouth. "I'm sorry too..." she said, her beautiful long hair falling over her eyes and down her front, "If I were stronger you would already have known."

His eyes painfully searched hers, the only scrape of security inside them. He knew they would get through it, whatever it was. She had to know it too.

"I've been talking to Rachel, about this sickness." She began, "And she's done some tests, done some research..." Anastasia breathed again, still not quite able to believe what she was saying, "She cannot find any biological reason why. But all the endocrinological tests... They all point to..." she sighed, and lifted her gaze, meeting him despairingly in the eye, all her troubles leaking, pouring through. "I'm pregnant."

No shock. No fainting. Only what she was feeling. Her emotions were so prevalent that they completely overrode his. There was only confusion. His expression only changed minutely, only to one of slight disbelief. "How?"

Tears trickled again. "I don't know!" she said, "I've done three pregnancy tests. All three positive, all three! Rachel says that, should pregnancy occur in vampyres, there is nothing to suggest it would vary from that in humans, biologically or chemically. There is no possibility that being a vampyre can cause a false result on a human test."

Dragon looked like both of his feet had been wiped out from underneath him. "Wh... How could that happen...? I mean... I know _how_ that could happen but..."

Anastasia began to cry again, trying to hide it from him by mopping the tears away before they fell. "Then you know why I'm frightened."

Dragon found himself wanting to cry himself as her thoughts flooded into his mind, his eyes snapping straight back to hers. "Oh." He said, the weight of the situation crashing down on his shoulders like a ton of bricks. "I see."

"I'm scared..." she said, "How can this be what Nyx wants?" Dragon sighed, unable to even contemplate an answer, "How can she want _her_ to be reborn? By us? And even if it wasn't her, what kind of place is this to bring up a child?"

"Do you believe in nurture over nature?" he asked her.

"Do you?"

He smiled, reaching over the table to clasp her hand in his. "I think Nyx wants us to try." He said, "She said Neferet would be reborn to parents that loved her. She believed that would overcome the darkness. We have to believe it too."

"I suppose." She said, gripping his hand back. "I'm still scared." She paused, her hand going limp in his again, "I'll be an awful mother."

"That's not possible."

"I don't know how to be a mother..." she said, "I was raised by governesses, we slept on hard cots and were forced to take cold baths every morning, sometimes we had to pick out shards of ice before we got in! I wouldn't know where to start being a good mother."

"Moja dorogaya..." he said gently, reading between the lines, "You will not be an awful mother just because you feel your own mother was."

"You never met my mother."

It was true. Anastasia's family were dead before he even met her. It had never been something that he wished he had been able to do, meet her parents. For one they would have thoroughly disapproved of his low – that is to say not royal – rank. Despite this, he had often found himself wondering what a meeting would have been like. Even what it would have been like if he had been a prince, even to go and dress as one, and see how they treated him. He didn't know a lot about her parents or her siblings. Sometimes, she would tell him stories about them, and he would sit for hours and listen. Other times, she would not say a word, and try to change the subject immediately. It was immensely sad that her last memory of them was the one she had had to try and erase from her memory for her own sake. However he did know that Anastasia had not been particularly close to her mother, who was shy and could even be cold. She had been closer to her father, the last Tsar, and her little brother Alexej.

For the life of a Grand Duchess, a daughter of one of the most powerful men in the world, it certainly was not a dream life. They had been raised humbly, and never spoiled. Public appearances had been everything for her once. It could not be more different to his own life. His father had been an English gentleman, who in his youth made many business trips to Spain. It was there he met and married his mother, and remained for the rest of his life. Before he was Marked, he lived in an old Spanish farmhouse, the barns of which had been converted into stables where his father kept his beloved Andulusian horses. It was a fantastic life. When he was Marked, his mother didn't even seem to notice, having been brought up in a town where there was a House of Night, vampyres were no strange thing to her. His father acted a little coldly at first, now of course having no one to produce heirs, but soon returned to normal. It was that glowing feeling of being loved completely unconditionally that he had longed to give to his own child.

Now Anastasia had met his parents. Shortly after she Changed, he took her to meet them. He remembered how she had almost cried when his mother hugged her and told her to consider them family. Whether or not it had been joy or sorrow he still did not know. A little of both, perhaps.

"I don't need to." He said, "Because I know you. Nastenka..." he began, "Why do you believe that any part of you is anything less than exquisite?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly. I'm not perfect, no one is."

"I didn't say 'perfect'. I said 'exquisite'." He retaliated, "If you were any more exquisite you'd kill me." The elated feeling he had when he saw he had made her laugh pushed him to continue. "Never have another negative thought about yourself again, Grand Duchess."

She slid her chair across the tiles and sidled up to him, putting her arms around him. "You really believe we can do this?"

"You don't?"

Anastasia watched in curiosity as he shuffled his chair slightly away from her, leant over her and slowly laid his head against her stomach. It wasn't comfortable, but in truth, he barely felt it, his hand sliding the fabric of her shirt up slightly, so that his cheek touched her skin.

"So long..." he said, his breath warm against her, "So long I've wanted to give you a child. I would have given anything for a human life with you. And now... It doesn't quite seem real."

She ran her fingers lightly through his hair and drew little patterns on the back of his shoulders. Nothing seemed real, nothing since she met him had ever seemed real. Despite having stated that perfection was impossible, she wondered if he knew just how perfect he was. "Can you hear anything?"

"Yeah." He said, "Pancake."

"Speaking of..." she pulled her plate across the table and picked up her fork again, spearing more pancake, "It's going cold." She flipping the pancake around the fork, dipping it into the cranberry, and stopped again, "You're gonna be an amazing father."

"You're gonna be an amazing mother."

She felt happiness fill her to the brim, and thanked her lucky stars for this life. Wonderful home, wonderful job, wonderful husband. He didn't write her poetry, or send her ridiculous amounts of roses, he didn't change who he was to fit her, or to impress her with soppy gestures. He didn't need to tell her he loved her, it was there, it was in the pancakes, in the speed at which he had reached her in the biology lab, in the worry in his eyes, in his complete and utter confidence in her. She smiled. "Thank you..." she said, "For always being there."

"'Tis my pleasure." He said, sitting up again and kissing her softly. Anastasia likened it to kissing an electrode terminal, it sent a shock right through her, filling her with need. Did he really know her that well? The tiniest gestures from one could turn the other on in seconds, a mischievous smile, a glint in the eye, a fleeting thought. Wrapping her arms around him, she climbed onto his lap, sitting herself over his hips expectantly. Part of the thrill of course, she knew well, is not about wanting or needing someone, it is about someone needing and wanting you. The shock doubled - his mind could never lie about needing her even if his body could, which it most certainly couldn't.

He broke away into a cheeky grin. "Jumping me _again_?"

She shrugged. "You were going to jump me, you were just too slow."

He looked up. "Fair enough." Both of them laughed, it was. Besides, her sitting on him like this was really turning him on. "What? Now?"

Another one of those shameless pregnancy cravings. She grinned back. "Yes please."

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**R&R!**


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